When Were You?
by lostladyknight
Summary: Post Audrey Niffengger's "The Time Traveler's Wife" Alba DeTamble thinks about what it means to be Chrono-Impaired and how it effects a person's grip on the "now."


**A/N: Okay so it's challenge time at the FCG again and I thought this time I'd do something a little different. The challenge this time was 1k-8k words, rated MA or lower, must use the line "I'm really starting to adjust to..." must reference "Iron Man" and must take place in summer. This peice was written for the wonderful book "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffnegger. Please enjoy.**

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"When Were You?"

_Tuesday, July 10, 2018. (Clare is 47, Alba is 16)_

ALBA**: **The sky was an array of warm colors. Oranges, pinks, even flecks of bright golden spread thickly through the sky, pouring into all of the cracks of the horizon. The trees and surrounding rooftops were all bathed in the summer morning glow as suburban creatures all started to slowly come to life in a chorus of chirps, tweets, and the occasional bark from a dog. It seemed as though the entire tiny neighborhood was eager to welcome the new day.

I, however, was not as eager to watch the morning come to life. I rolled over, stark naked, on my front lawn and tried to regain my senses as I hesitantly cracked one eye open and cringed at the offensive brightness coming from all around me. Slowly, my wits came back to me, though, and I scrambled to my feet and into my home.

My mother stood from the couch, where she'd obviously been waiting up for a couple of hours, and came forward. She wrapped a blanket around my naked form, and pulled me into a gentle hug. There was no chide, no clicking of her tongue, no disappointed remarks at her daughter's state; instead she simply showered me in the warm and welcoming touch of a Mother's love. I felt myself being pulled towards the couch and succumbed when my mother pulled me down, cradling my torso in her arms. I settled my head on my mother's shoulder, peering through mere slits in my droopy eyes as I watched a strand of my mother's bright copper hair dance in the current of her breath.

Finally, with her voice quaking just above a whisper, my mother asked the inevitable question; "When were you?"

"May 18, 1994," I whispered back, pulling the blanket tighter around me as I snuggled closer to my mother, selfishly consuming her warmth. The house was chilly and dark with no light on save the flood of sunlight that crept between the cracks of the blinds, and the silent flashing movie across the room on the television--Iron Man from 2008, if I judged it correctly. (I didn't watch much television.)

"We were house shopping that day," her mother answered her, her voice still low. She had a habit of remembering what she'd been doing on specific dates; it came with the lifestyle. "Did you see us? Tell me about it."

"I was in a drugstore parking lot," I began slowly, telling my mother the story. "It was the backyard of this huge Victorian mansion, with enough space for a family of twelve and their servants at least. It had incredible high ceilings, fireplaces with marble mantles, ornate woodwork - all of which you could see through the bare windows. It wasn't us at all, but there you and dad were, standing in this huge picture window on the second floor. You looked as though you had just fallen in love, but dad looked appalled... like it just wasn't _right._ You know how he is... _was_..."

My mother nodded, dropped a kiss on my forehead, and said, "I remember that house. Your father loved it, deep down, I know he did; but he had his heart set on this place," my mother patted the couch next to her. "It was just a matter of _time_ before we found it."

Time.

Something about the thought of time always made both my mother and I shudder. For me, it was the way it played with me, pushing me forwards or backwards at will. Time made me a marionette, forced me to dance in and out of places at its own will. I knew for my mother it was the way it had always confined her, teasing her, forcing her to wait impatiently for her life to unfold. For my father, however, it had been his foil... and in the end it had also been his Kryptonite.

He had pushed and pulled his way through time for so many years before, in the end, it was that same ability - or quirk - that had brought him his demise. It was a responsible both for the horror story of his final moments and the lifelong romance he had with my mother. Theirs was the ultimate love story, the way my mother told it; full of romance, adventure, waiting, and even a little heartbreak. Moreover, though, it was the tale of two lovers who time itself could not even separate.

"I'm really starting to adjust to the idea that he's gone," my mother whispered. Pain, tears, even a sob were hidden in a shallow depth within her words. "And I don't like it."

"Momma you have to wait," I wrapped a hand around my mother's body, sliding it up and down her arm gently. Finally, I scooted it upwards and played it in her hair. "He'll come back to you."

"Did he tell you?" my mother asked, desperation piqued in her voice. I secretly feared that after so many years of being so deeply involved with Chrono-Impairment my mother was losing touch with the now.

It often frightened me how fiercely and tightly she clung to the past. I gave her the only answer I knew how, "he promised."

We were silent while we both thought about him and everything that it had meant to be him, to be involved with him, to be his daughter. I bit down on my lower lip and tried to force myself not to worry so much. I, unlike my mother, unlike my father even, could chose when and where I went, though I would never be able to choose _when_ I went, and would always have another chance to see my father - if I wanted it. My mother would never be so fortunate. She had made her lifetime out of waiting and it seemed she would spend every one of her remaining days _waiting _for_ him_.

I slowly pulled away from my mother, still chewing on my lip as I rose. I cursed time as I wandered up the stairs towards my bedroom. Time had teased me with sporadic visits with my father, who sometimes didn't even know who I was. It had made me its plaything; had made my mother a shell of the woman she once was, always looking towards the past. My father, on the occasions I did get to talk with him, had always told tales of me mother being bright, young, and always looking forward to the future. I wanted that back for her.

I fell onto my bed gracelessly, and had a flickering thankfulness to time for summer vacation. I liked not having to worry about school after an excursion like that. As I slowly started to fall into slumber, I mused to myself about time and my wealth of feeling towards it. I worshiped it, in a way very similar to the Catholic way my mother worshiped God. I blamed it for all of the good in my life and equally, perhaps even more-so, for all of the bad. Time had essentially become the deity that ruled my every breath of existence.

It was with that thought that I fell slowly to sleep, contemplating the clutch time held on fate and damning it all the same.

.:End:.

_"Time is the justice that examines all offenders."_

-William Shakespeare

Penned by Lostladyknight in the week of June 22, 2008.

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**A/N 2: The scene in time that Alba is returning from can be located on pp. 291 The description of the home is almost exactly as Clare described it. I did so intentionally. It was to highlight the likeness between mother and daughter. Plagarism was not intended. It is not word for word but is very similar. Just thought I'd clear that up. Also I know the entire novel is written in 1st person and this is written in 3rd, I have my reasons. I hope you enjoyed it! Please Review and let me know how I did. -LLK **


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